


And Time Yet For a Hundred Indecisions

by Cinaed



Category: Brothers & Sisters
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Community: lgbtfest, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-05
Updated: 2009-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saul was nineteen the first time he kissed another man. It felt as though the world was ending. Now, half a century later, Henry kisses him, and it feels less like disaster and more like rebirth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Time Yet For a Hundred Indecisions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to schlicky for beta-reading this for me!

_Time for you and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions,  
Before the taking of a toast and tea._  
~ "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot

**  
**

They meet at the symphony. There is a single seat separating them. The seat is empty and conspicuous in an otherwise full house; Saul finds his gaze drawn to the seat, and then to the man, wondering if he's been stood up by a date, or if someone is due to arrive five minutes into the performance and sit down between them.

Saul's gaze lingers perhaps a touch too long on the stranger's beard and mustache, the way it almost hides his mouth but not quite. He feels the first hint of attraction then, an ache in his chest like someone has caught and now cradles his heart in their hands. The pang of longing dries out his mouth, turns his stomach into a knot of Gordian proportions, leaves him reeling like he's had one too many glasses of wine or maybe a blow to the head. He tries to make himself stop looking, but he can't, his eyes returning to linger on the man's expressive mouth, face, eyes, until the man _has_ to notice his staring.

When the man glances over, there's a slight slant of his lips, the barest hint of a smile, something Saul would only notice if he were staring. Which he is, so he does, and it makes him feel both relieved and terrified, because he has no idea if the man's smile is friendly or mocking. "Henry," the stranger says in a low, soft rumble, and it takes Saul a long, flustered moment to realize that must be the man's name.

"Saul," he answers, once the name has worked its way past the lump in his throat and escaped his parched mouth. He extends a hand, pleased in a vague way when he notices it is calm and steady and not trembling at all.

Henry's hand is warm, his handshake firm, and when their hands drop back to their sides, Henry's smile is wider now, more obvious. "It's nice to meet you," he says. It could be just polite conversation, but Saul knows it isn't, instead realizes with a hint of wonder that it is _interest_ he sees in Henry's eyes, half-hidden by his own miniature reflection in Henry's glasses.

When a flushed, apologetic woman does scramble over Henry's feet to claim that last seat a minute before the concerto begins, Saul asks if she would mind very much if they switched seats.

Settled in next to Henry, he smiles, his entire body caught up in that long-lost rush of true desire. He wants to lean closer and feel the warmth radiating off Henry's body, to close the space between their two hands and entwine their fingers, see for himself whether Henry's hands are soft or callused. He doesn't do anything of the sort, of course, the bittersweet desire like a heavy, unmovable weight in his stomach.

Henry must read something in his body language, though, because halfway through the allegro appassionato, Henry's hand comes to rest on top of his, their fingers slowly entwining as the crashing notes of the orchestra and piano sweep over them.

**  
**

Saul was nineteen the first time he kissed another man. It felt as though the world was ending. Now, half a century later, after a symphony and something Saul has tentatively labeled a date, outside a coffee shop Saul has never been to before and probably will never visit again, Henry kisses him, and it feels less like disaster and more like rebirth.

A foundation for a whole new world is being built, brick by brick, kiss by kiss, he thinks, and kisses Henry back.

**  
**

Despite Henry's occasional suggestion, they do not go to bars. If pressed, Saul has several reasons for this.

For one thing, if they truly want to get drunk, they can sneak over to Ojai and grab a bottle or two (or three, but who's counting). What Saul does not (cannot) say is that he can't stand the idea of gay bars, where men and women strut like peacocks, all so fiercely eager to be noticed and adored and desired. It makes him wonder if he had seemed that desperate for Milo those twenty long years ago, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the comforting weight of his body.

For another, Saul is still slowly learning the edges and depths of the gay community and he doesn't want to misstep in such a public place, self-conscious that when he first kissed a man, the Daughters of Bilitis and the Mattachine Society were still the forerunners for gay rights, and the last time he kissed Milo and thereafter retreated into a life of delusion and lies, the Berlin War was about to come tumbling down.

He realizes what he's doing-- dipping a toe in the water and then hesitating because the water seems too cold, too deep, for all that Henry is standing by him with smiles and firm assurances that he won't drown; still, he can't summon enough courage yet to dive in headfirst. Besides, he's spent up most of his bravery in his announcement to his family and that first press of his lips to Henry's.

There are only so many brave things a man can do in one lifetime.

**  
**

Henry is teaching him a new language, filled with vocabulary like 'twink' and 'club kid' and 'wolf'. The words fall awkwardly from Saul's tongue most days, but he's learning, filing the words away and managing to twist his tongue around each syllable with growing confidence. He still feels ridiculous every time he tries out new slang though, like someone's going to burst out laughing at this seventy-year-old gay man trying out the homosexual lexicon.

Kevin and Scotty would be willing to help teach him, he knows, but God, sometimes looking at Scotty and Kevin makes him feel so old. He can see all his wasted years in their young, happy faces. Saul loves his nephew and his nephew's husband, he truly does. It's just that sometimes Saul can't help but feel bitter and tired and regretful, not when that half a century in the closet reflects back at him whenever their rings catch the light and gleam.

**  
**

There is a whole culture out there, Saul knows, a whole history and society that Henry is ready and willing to introduce him to, through parties and dinners and trips to art galleries and the symphony. There is so much to learn, so much to experience and discover, that it's almost overwhelming, like he can absolve those wasted years by learning everything now.

And oh, this brave new world, that has such people in it, people like Henry, and Kevin, and Scotty, people who care about him, who call him one of their own, who want to show him all the things he's been missing during those decades he spent blindfolded. Who forgive him his frailty and indecisions, who love all the flaws and contradictions that make up Saul Holden.

The next time Henry mentions an invitation to one of Milo's parties, Saul thinks he will take Henry's hand and say yes, let's go. The party will be loud and boisterous, and Henry's hand will be warm and clasped in his, and everything will be fine.


End file.
